The Blood Moon: Akali's Tale
by Bunnikula
Summary: This story begins with Akali in the forest with her mother, and ends in blood. This is Akali's origin story, as she faces the Blood Moon and begins her journey.
1. Receiving the Kamas

**Something that has always bugged me with League is Akali's lore. She's my favorite champion to play and I'm the type of person that reads all the lore and backgrounds, and her's always annoyed me.**

**"Her mom was a ninja.. so she is one too. Yeah." (Beat) "Oh and there are other ninjas." The End. GG no Re. That's all, folks. Other champs have origin stories, great conflicts, a rivalry, romance, ties to the world and other champions, at least a story of some sort. Like, Akali's reveal was "yooo you guys wanted another ninja and like there were already two guys so HERE'S A GIRL!"**

**After feeling this frustration for a bit, I figured this poor college kid would try and make it right for Akali.**

**All constructive feedback is welcome!**

**If you liked this and want more or something specific go ahead and let me know, I'm already out for the summer and I have time!**

**P.S. I researched so long and have a word document of notes but in the entirety of Rito there has been less than one page said on Akali's story and personality, including all announcements, Journals of Justices and Forum Posts by Reds (that I could find). The Blood Moon mention in the Journal of Justice was the only substantial thing outside of her bio (and it was only like 2 paragraphs) so I decided to run with that. but seriously. #rito pls**

Receiving the Kamas (Part One of Akali's Tale)

Shadows, dark forms waver across my path. My eyes meander, searching for something in the forest. The light weakly filters through ancient oaks and foliage. The sparse patches of light illuminate a lush bed of grass beneath me, a small clearing. I sit on a boulder, dangling my feet across the top of the green blades, imagining them slicing through my toes. My mother's orders ring in my head. Do not rise until every blade that your foot can graze has a name. Understand its place. Learn the balance between blade and twig, twig and tree, ground and sky.

I scan the forest, wondering what she meant. The trees in front of me are oak; that I know. But what was a twig? A blade of grass? If I look closely, maybe I could identify a branch by its texture or structure. But mother had said I could not leave the rock. Maybe I was supposed to know each element of nature intimately, was meant to name them myself, care for them individually. I begin to focus on a leaf to my right. On it a spider has attacked a caterpillar, and the spider now begins to piece through its corpse. This strikes me because it brings back a Kinkou phrase: "The only constant in life is its origin in death."

A long, low creak rumbles behind me. I quickly turn my eyes and swing my body away from the caterpillar. The glade behind me has come alive. Groans and creaks emanate from trees on my left, several feet away and behind me. One great tree stands out, surrounded by smaller, greener trees. The larger tree overshadows the others, eats the light. Movement, noise seems to be originating from just behind them. Birds fly out into the clearing through the branches.

Kaaashhhhhhhkaa-thud. The old giant throws itself to the ground. The whole forest rings.

Mother has returned.

She stands atop the fallen tree, a Kama in each hand. The small, slightly curved blade attaches to its carved handle at a right angle. A hand held sickle, it is an instrument of both life and death. A versatile tool, its most common uses for it are the rice harvest, and combat. A farming tool, it keeps entire villages alive. An advanced weapon requiring the mastery of the most advanced techniques; it is the choice of masters to bring death to their enemies. A slight woman, average height, and clad in a tight green tunic stands proudly upon the old giant, scanning the clearing. On her back is tied a fox and a boar, both dead, and a bundle of twigs. Her long black hair is in a ponytail, and knots weave down her back. It still looks silky, even with twigs entangled and mud marring the strands as it reaches to her calves.

"Come, with me. Cull, with me." She calls from her perch.

I guess my time is up. Mother had called a traditional Kinkou phrase for the Fist of Shadow, I have to give the expected response. "Now, the shroud is lifted, and light will come. I must uphold the balance."

For that is our duty. To cull those that bring imbalance, to preserve the life of things. The great tree must fall.

Eager to please mother, I spot a rabbit, easy prey, and always in overabundance, always needing to be pushed back.

She sees my movement, and hops down lightly from the trunk. Her clothing is scant, so nothing gets caught on the foliage or disturbs a nest. She walks like a shadow herself, another element of the forest. Swiftly she approaches me, her stern eyes latched on me. "Stop. You are not listening at all. You have failed your assignment; you see no difference between twig and tree. The blood moon is approaching, you are lucky you are not to be tested, are not in town with the spirits. Tell me, what do you feel? Look around the forest."

Embarrassed and uncertain, I halt and scan the trees, the forest bed. I see very little, the forest is quiet.

Mother is waiting for an answer. She sighs, and hands me a hint. "Akali, the absence of something is just as important as its presence. I should not have to specify 'What do you see?' and 'What do you not see?' for they are the same."

She pauses, gives me another minute. I am hopeless.

"Where, is the rabbit hole? Is it not spring? The rabbits are not nesting, are not breeding. That one is old; their burrows are here. Something is wrong that is out of our expertise. Something that would stop an animal from exhibiting its most noteworthy trait is troubling. You will have to go to the village tomorrow, find Shen and Kennen and ask them if there is need to call a counsel. Come, let us go home. That was your lesson for today."

I hang my head and hop down from the boulder. I trot through the tall grass over to mother. My long black hair trails in the grass; it is pulled back from my face and tied down my back. It tickles the back of my calves, for I am wearing the same utilitarian garb of my mother. It all feels heavier in my disappointment, and I wish it was not pulled back so it could hide my face.

Mother's eyes seem to widen as we walk home, it looks like she is taking in the entire forest with a single glance, with her breath. After a few minutes we have cleared the river, and she turns to me.

"It is time you learned the story of Reina." Her name is unfamiliar to me, I frown.

"You have never been in town during the festivals, and rarely do you converse with anyone whenever you are there, no?" Mother's gaze is now focused completely on me; she has no need of her eyes to move in the forest. I look at her, brow furrowed, and walk the same way.

"No, mother, you know this. We are not townsfolk."

"This is a legend often recounted at the Festival of the Blood Moon, and, as you know, the Blood Moon rises tonight."

I nod, an important event for the villagers, I know that much.

"The Blood Moon festival is important for the Kinkou, as it is one of the few festivals in which we are close to the townsfolk. The villagers call facing the shadows and darkness of the night 'facing the Blood Moon,' and they do it together, as an order, much like how the Kinkou keeps the balance of these very same shadows. They feel that facing these fears is a sort of cleansing, and necessary. The Kinkou's proverb 'We do what we must' is their maxim for the evening. Members of the Kinkou perform Reina's tale in front of the entire city." She pauses to step over a small rat snake, and brushes aside a branch.

"Reina was an ancient Ionian warrior. She fought to preserve the balance, although she was not a Kinkou. Assailants had tried to best her in any combat, be it sword, bow, fist or knife, yet they never prevailed, and even with her renown, she never boasted."

"She was quite young whenever she set out on her journey, only twelve. Her parents had their lands stolen from them by an avaricious noble when she was ten, and her family was never able to recover. When she was fourteen, an evil spirit claiming to be her father appeared at her door. It was wearing a mask, and claimed that it was her father who had suffered from a terrible burn. She denied it, for her father had been kind, and she had seen this spirit as it was travelling in the woods. It had laid a trap, and upon seeing a fox kit caught in it, it paused to pick it up and strangle it before throwing it back to the ground and continuing on its way. She was scared, and whenever the demon saw that the ruse was up, it attacked her, first in the form of the fox it had killed. But then, its form became ethereal and light and dark began to bend around the room. Reina ran. She had fought many foes before; but they had always been of this world."

We are nearing our cottage, I can tell by the shapes of the trees.

"Reina fled the spirit for many years, yet it always found her and tormented her. She had found friends and comrades along her journey, and gradually they gave Reina strength. One night Reina decided that she would confront this being, and either way it would be over. She made one last round with her friends, and they helped her to craft her own mask to rival the spirit's, only hers would be pure and real. But, nearing dawn, when she had finally worked up the courage to face the spirit directly, it ran and never came again. It had fed off her weakness, and Reina's newfound strength defeated it and frightened it away."

We are at the doorstep of our cottage. The evening hours were beginning to creep in.

"This is what is said at every Blood Moon Festival, as the townsfolk are putting their fears, written in scrolls, upon the Great Tree: 'We all have darkness that pursues us. Here, we identify our fears and worries when we hang them upon the Great Tree. Like Reina, we must confront the darkness within our spirits. We find the balance in the darkness. We must be stronger than that which torments us. We confront them as one.'"

Mother hauls the animals that she culled that day off of her back. "Remember this tale, as it is a guiding moral to every Kinkou, and someday you may play the part of Reina at the festival of the Blood Moon."

Mother hands me the animals to skin. I am still learning anatomy, although my carving skills have already surpassed hers. The fox carcass lies at the top of the pile, and I carry it over to my Spartan workstation by the door. I mull over Reina's story, but thoughts that I had buried during my exercise rise to the surface now as I begin to skin and gut the fox. It is nearing my fourteenth birthday, and I will have to undergo the scrutiny of the Kinkou to join their ranks. It is what mother has been preparing me for, and all that I worry about.

One of my thoughts scares me so that I have to ask mother's assurance. It astonishes me that I had not thought of it before.

"Mother," I call.

"Yes?" She is over by the fireplace, sharpening her Kamas. Another set is hung above the mantle, my father's.

"Do you think… Do you think that because father is not here, that we are unbalanced? Do you think that the Kinkou will think I was raised in imbalance, having only a mother?" Mother sets down her Kamas. She does not appear flustered or surprised by my question. She stands up and walks across to the table, by the door. She looks at me calmly. I have the feeling that she has prepared for this question, has heard it in the nights before sleep finds her.

She begins, "You may say that our family is not balanced, but what is balance?"

I don't give her an answer, and she continues.

"Nature is what is balanced? I think not, do we not dedicate our lives to preserving nature's balance, to helping it? Without forces acting against nature, without nature's troubles, there is no force protecting nature. There can be no balance if there is nothing to work against, no strife. In a world of only good there can be no good, for its definition will have lost all meaning. A world of evil is not evil until something good lies within it."

She walks back over to her chair and picks up her Kamas again. She holds them up to me. They shine as light hits them from the doorway.

"Some believe that this would be a true utopia, these lands without balance, with only one side to their coin. Noxus and Demacia come closest to these beliefs. We believe in something different, as you know, in life itself. And as death comes from life, and life comes from death, so does balance come from imbalance. Without imbalance, there is no striving for balance, just as without death, there is no fight for life. The imbalance your father created in his absence gave us something to strive against."

She looks at me, and then the Kamas over the fireplace. "There is nothing unnatural," she says, "only the tipping of the scales."

As Mother finishes her explanation, her motion slows. Sluggishly, she raises her right hand up to Father's Kamas. Her skin seems to become white, her hair blacker than black. She becomes clearly defined against fuzzy surroundings. Time grinds slowly to a point, frozen. Mother does not move, staring at the Kamas. Her face pales, her eyes widen. I can see her reflection in the Kamas as if Mother was looking in a mirror. Her face has drained of all emotion.

Dread creeps up my chest. I do not understand.

A breath turns into a pause, turns into a silence. The tipping of the scales. Her words seem to hang in the air around us.

Mother turns to me. She stares at me, my eyes. Now everything but her eyes is a blur.

I freeze, the head of the fox in my hands.

"Take the Kamas, Akali. Your time has come."

Her eyes roll back into her head, and she collapses on the floor.

**This is my first fanfiction ever, so any thoughts and reviews would be highly appreciated! :) For now I am content to leave the story as it ends in chapter two, but if this story garners enough interest I might continue it or start another if you guys have suggestions. I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading!**


	2. The Blood Moon

The Blood Moon (Part Two of Akali's Tale)

The fox head hangs heavy in my hand. A blood stream meanders down my forearm and drips to the floor. A small puddle is collecting at my foot. The day has reached the twilight hours; my mother and I had passed much of our time working in the cottage. She lies on the floor.

Movement rustles fur against my wrist. Scratchy fur, stiffened by dried blood.

Slowly, I lower my gaze.

I am petrified. The fox's head has turned. Its fur stands on end. Blood flows out at the base of the head, more than a fox's ever could have held. Beady, black eyes fixate on mine. Its fur stands on end.

Its eyes are alive, ink eyes probe mine, round, shiny, and endless.

The world falls away.

"Yes. Your time has come." The detached head moves as it speaks, it opens and closes mechanically, as if its jaws were hinges. Blood gushes out of the back of the head. Each movement, open, and shut, words bark out harshly.

"Face."

"The blood moon!"

Blood splatters onto my face as it springs out of my grasp, moving like a lightning strike. It twists above me; blood hangs in the air all around. I try to back away, stumbling out of the cottage, and it remains airborne for a mere moment before diving back down. It aims at me. Its jaws wide open as it plummets, I screech and hold my arms in front of my face, losing sight of my surroundings. Searing pain slices through my right arm as the head latches itself into my flesh, and I fall backwards.

As I fall, my arm swings out to catch myself and I glimpse the fox.

Its eyes have transformed. Around the eye sockets, the fur melts away. Huge, glowing red coals of eyes glare out of a fox's skull.

But it isn't looking at me anymore.

The moon is the color of rust, and it captivates that demonic gaze. The harvest moon looms over me, and I can feel blood soaking into my skin. The thing raises itself and my arm right to my face and hovers, staring at the blood red moon. Terror grips me and yet I cannot move. The scent of burning flesh and fur brings water to my eyes, and a strand of burnt fur grazes my cheek.

_Hesitation is the seed of defeat._ Faint echoes of mother's words echo around me.

I slam the fox head into the ground, yelping in pain as the teeth drive further into my arm. I thrust it down again with all my might, bracing myself against the pain. It is immovable. I am scared to bring my fingers near it, but out of desperation I claw at its mouth, its gums, frantically trying to pry it open.

Still, it stares at the moon. It begins to drool. Hot, red liquid burns my skin.

This time, the words reverberate within my skull; no motion comes from the grotesque being on my arm.

"The blood moon has risen, face it as one, or die! You cannot fight it, one soul against thousands! This is less than a shadow of what is to come. The blood moon is hungry for those who walk alone. Those who walk in darkness!"

Realization dawns on me. My limbs are everywhere and a heavy weight crushes my arm, yet I still manage to rise gracefully. I now have purpose, have an idea. No hesitation. I stride into the house, over to my father's Kamas. They are resting over the fireplace, gleaming in the faint light. _My time has come._ Blood drips down the blades, and there is a stain on the grip of one shaft. I grip it and feel the rough shaft against my palm.

I raise the Kama over the fox head with my left hand.

I recite with venom: "We are one and we are few. We walk the line between life and death, and we follow no man's rules. We fight with honor, by our blade's edge. We walk not in darkness, nor in light."

I chop cleanly through the skull.

"We walk through Twilight's veil!"

Screeching, shrieking, nails on chalkboard, rocks in a grinder, a cacophony of deafening noise fills my ears. I slide to the floor, the ash of the fireplace mixes with the blood on my body, it is hard to breathe.

"You are no Fist of Shadow! She is there, lying on the floor, dead! You cannot face us alone!"

The voice, many voices, no voices at all but rocks, clashes, I have no idea what the noises are but they form words, form meaning. It sounds angry and amused. The clamor is coming from all around now, destroying my mind and my senses, tears fill my eyes as I curl on the floor, my arms around my ears and my head between my knees.

"Hide, girl of darkness! That is where you belong. Fragmented, alone, taking refuge in the dark, in the ashes of greatness. _Face the Blood Moon_. That call is for those more worthy than you!"

The Kama is still in my grip. With my eyes closed, I find the one for my right arm, wincing at the pain. This is not how I will die. I am Kinkou. If it is the most I can do, I will look my death in the face. I defeated its puppet, I at least made it angry, and maybe I can fight this thing.

I lift my head, unsure of what I will face.

Whirling above me is a figure made of darkness, like a tornado it whips light around the room. I cannot tell if it has a solid figure, the wild flailing of light obfuscate its form.

I catch a glimpse of a robe.

_Mark acquired._

I stand up, and stare coldly at my opponent. It is smaller than it was when I laid on the floor, the light seems to slow as I watch my attacker.

I hurl my right Kama towards its center, and I hear a metallic clang.

The noises reach a new height of uproar, and I can barely see. I have to remain focused. My training, it has ended, and this is only the beginning.

I set up my stance.

I hear confusion, anger, disbelief.

I leap towards where my Kama landed, I leap with perfect form, prepared to strike.

As I pass through the darkness, the light, I feel it tear at my skin, my hair, my clothes. I find my Kama, embedded in something, and feel a hand grasp my hair from behind. If it is surrounding me, I must strike all around. I wrench my Kama out and whirl with them, slicing all around me. A single, deafening screech rings out, above the forest.

Silence.

I stand in the cottage, covered in blood. It is still twilight. The orange moon hangs outside my window. Without moving, I scan my home. Mother's body is gone.

I begin to pack.

I walk through the forest without thinking, without feeling.

I leave a trail of blood.

Upon exiting the cover of trees, I find myself at the edge of a rice field. I being my trek to the heart of Ionia, to the Placidium. It is the home to the School of Transcendentalism, an organization dedicated to raising the populace to the greatest spiritual heights. Soraka is in charge there, and I hope that she will have answers on whatever demonic or Void creature attacked. At the very least, she can heal me and ensure that my wound is not tainted.

I am nervous, however, because I have only ever read or heard about these people, these places. I have never left the forest.

After tonight that worry is trivial.


End file.
